Break Me - Al & Truth: A Spirit's Fall Side-Story
by Batsutousai
Summary: "Would you like to watch your brother, Alchemist?" the shade with his brother's arm and leg asked, and Al realised too late that he never should have agreed. (Al's PoV of Spirit's Fall events.)


**Title:** _Break Me ~ Al & Truth: A Spirit's Fall Side-Story_  
 **Series:** _The Blood Toll Saga_  
 **Fandom:** _Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood_ /manga  
 **Author:** Batsutousai  
 **Rating:** Mature  
 **Warnings:** Vampire!Edward Elric, psychological torture, temporary character death, loneliness, suicide attempt  
 **Summary:** "Would you like to watch your brother, Alchemist?" the shade with his brother's arm and leg asked, and Al realised too late that he never should have agreed.

 **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Arakawa Hiromu and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 **A/N:** From a list of drabble prompts on tumblr, hangebokhan requested **Break Me, Al's body, Truth, at the Gate**.

Han has been aware of my intention to write this series since before I actually sat down to do so, and has served as cheerleader and idea board pretty much from the start. When she gave me this prompt, I knew exactly which world I'd have to do it in, so here's to you, darling: Hope it's everything you were hoping for. XD

You can also read this at Archive of Our Own, tumblr, or LiveJournal.

-0-

The silence following Ed's departure was...terrible. Wretched. _Heartrending_.

Al sucked in a breath that burned, was in turns awed and sickened by his ability to _do so_. He'd been trapped in that armour for almost _six years_ , trying to remember how it felt to have flesh, what it meant to need to breathe and eat, the simple pleasure of _sleeping through the night_.

Not once had he imagined this white place – hadn't even _remembered_ it, though he had the sinking feeling that he knew, now, one of the horrors that haunted Ed's nights, and why he'd looked like he was going to faint the first time Al told him about seeing his body in a white space – or the empty space next to him, where Ed should have been.

Getting his body back should have been a _victory_. It should have been him and Ed, both of them whole again at long last, laughing and leaning on each other as they tried to remember how to use the flesh they'd both lost.

But that wasn't what had happened. Instead, he'd been trying to cross to Ed, find out why he was making that face that Al had learnt meant he was hurt and intending to hide it, because he didn't think it was _that bad_ , and maybe wondering which of their attackers had wounded his brother, thinking about 'accidentally' kicking his head a few times – Ed always laughed when someone suggested _Al_ was the nicer of the two of them, and with good reason – when–

 _"Welcome back, Alchemist," a voice had said, echoing in the armour._

Except Al hadn't been in the armour any more, was staring at whiteness, absolutely nothing around him, not even that wrath that could have been his stolen body. He'd lifted one hand, was confused by how difficult it was, until he'd looked down and found flesh, rather than metal.

'What?' he'd mouthed, confused about the lack of actual sound for a moment, until he'd remembered that there was more involved with speaking than moving his mouth.

And then there'd been a crackle of energy, and when Al had turned to look, he'd found Ed standing near a large stone door, which Al hadn't remembered having ever seen before.

Ed hadn't seen him, had been too busy speaking to a white figure sitting in front of the stone door, one of its arms and one of its legs flesh.

It had taken him a moment, but he had eventually realised those were **Ed's** arm and leg. That he was shouting at – insulting _; really, Brother? – the being that had taken his limbs from him._

In his head, an emotionless voice echoed, "I'm what you would call 'the world'. Or 'the universe'. Or 'god'. Or 'truth'. Or 'all'. Or 'one'. And...I'm ' **you** '."

Memories had flooded him, then, of the moment following their failed attempt to revive Mum, when he'd found himself staring at a white figure in front of a stone door a little bit different from the one Ed was facing. **His** figure and **his** doorway.

He'd looked up, his head feeling like it was about to explode with the new-old memories and knowledge, and found Ed staring at him, looking so **desperate**.

How did flesh bodies move? How did they speak?!

Al'd tried to respond, show he was still alive, but he **couldn't** , could only watch as Ed was dragged back into the door by black hands, screaming Al's name.

-0-

Time didn't really... _pass_ in the white place. Or it _did_ , but there was no way to measure it, really. The figure with Ed's arm and leg never moved, seemed content to sit in front of the distant stone door and stare – or _not_ stare; Al wasn't completely convinced it could see, honestly – at nothing.

For Al's part, he struggled to remember how to move deadweight limbs, how to purposefully draw breath and let it back out again while manipulating the muscles in his throat, learning all over again how to speak.

He wished Ed was there. He'd have teased Al about it later, never let him live down whatever weird noises he was making while trying to make the exact sounds he wanted, but at least he would have helped in the moment. Would have made the necessary noises himself, exaggerating the facial expressions and trying to walk Al through doing it himself. He'd probably have been a _terrible_ helper, but at least he'd have _tried_. Have _been there_.

Al had always thought the silence of his long nights, spent watching Ed sleep, had been torture. Even on the nights they'd spent outdoors, with the night creatures offering a backdrop of sounds, and occasionally having to stare down a would-be thief – always so much easier when Ed wasn't egging them on – had felt unbearably lonely. More than once, he'd wished for death, or for Ed to be forced to stay up with him, so they could talk all night, playing dumb word games or debating scientific questions just to pass the time.

But he'd never truly known loneliness, he understood now. Even when he'd been left alone with his thoughts all night, Ed had still been there, breathing into the silence of the long nights, shifting and making little annoyed grunts as his blanket slipped off and his unconscious flail to catch it came up empty; even asleep, Ed had _been there_ , impossible to miss.

The first time Al cried since before losing his body, it was because of the loneliness. He kept trying to shush himself, because the white place was too large, too demanding of silent respect, like one of those ancient churches from before the founding of Amestris, the ones even Ed had been quiet in.

It wasn't the last time he cried for the empty space next to himself, but the only other being in the whole strange world never once seemed to notice him.

Al started to wonder, a little bit, if this whole thing wasn't some sort of long, terrible fever dream. Maybe, soon, he'd wake up and Ed and Mum would both be there, so obviously worried for him, but both trying not to show it, trying to keep _him_ from worrying, too.

That seemed, at times – minutes, hours, days, _months_ ; time was irrelevant – that was far more likely a reality than Mum dying and their failure to bring her back, then being trapped in a steel suit for _years_. It had all just been one long, horrible fever dream.

He was ready to wake up.

(There would be no waking up.)

-0-

"Would you like to watch your brother, Alchemist?" Ed's figure asked, inexplicably, one day.

Al had turned away from the figure long before, because it was easier to be alone when he didn't have to see another person there. (Also, the design on his door – he'd been a little surprised to realise it had been behind him the whole time – was quite interesting, and staring at it at least gave him something to think about, other than Ed and Mum's face when he finally woke up.)

He turned back toward the figure, only to find it _right next to him_. Nose-to-nose, if the figure'd had a nose.

Every hair on Al's body stood straight up in fear, not that he'd needed that physical warning to know he didn't want the figure that close. Because he felt the danger – the _terror_ ; call a horse a horse – all the way down in his _soul_ , like it was ingrained in his very _being_ that the figure was to be avoided at all costs.

Its mouth opened wide in a smile which should have been reassuring, Al thought, but it _wasn't_. It spoke of alchemic energy gone purple, and thousands of tiny black hands clinging to his skin, _tearing_ it to pieces, bit by agonizing _bit_.

Al choked on what might have been a scream, and tried to scramble backward, _away_. Except his muscles were too weak, so he really only managed to fall over, staring up at that wide, terrible grin.

"Would you like to watch your brother?" it repeated, somehow managing to sound both impatient and patient at the same time.

Al was lonely, had an empty space at his side where Ed's wide grin and false laughter should have been, and he didn't think about the cost until he'd already nodded, somehow managed to form a reasonable-sounding, " _Yes_."

The figure motioned with its white hand, and a sort of window opened next to Al, showing Ed eating something under a tree, during what looked to be late afternoon. There was a wood not too far in the distance, and what looked like a path that got some reasonable foot traffic in the foreground; he wasn't far from some sort of settlement, clearly, but not so close – or it simply wasn't that large – as to be awash in other people.

Al was pretty certain he'd heard his brother making some sort of deal with the figure, though that just as easily could have been something that had happened in the mess of knowledge that had washed over him while Ed had been there. Still, he couldn't imagine Ed would have left him without putting up more of a fight, so him making some sort of deal – a quest in trade for Al's freedom, or whatever, the selfless _moron_ – made sense. And, if this was a real image...

"What...?" he started, then stopped and grimaced a bit at the awkward quality of his words. But, when he chanced a glance over, he found the figure's mouth turned toward him, and he swallowed his uncertainly and forced out the words: "What deal did Brother make?"

The figure's head didn't move, but a sort of _pressure_ eased, somehow, like it had maybe looked away. "Your father left something undone that shouldn't have been," it said after a long moment.

It didn't say anything else, and Al eventually turned back to the little window of his brother settling to sleep under the tree, turning the words over in his mind a bit.

Dad had left something undone. Very probably, that meant Dad was dead, and Al allowed himself a brief moment of grief for that, his heart sinking a bit at the proof that he and Ed were orphans, that they were _all_ each other had, now.

What had he left undone? Who knew, and Al suspected the figure wouldn't give him any more than that. But it was something the figure cared about, clearly, which was...

Al imagined an earthquake or massive war or some other sort of catastrophe, but he couldn't honestly see the figure caring about something like _that_.

He sighed and shook his head. It didn't really matter _what_ the thing was, Ed would sort it out, was probably already hot on the trail, and Al would be out of this emptiness soon. Perhaps that was even why the figure had opened the window, so Ed could watch his brother's victory.

With that cheering thought bolstering him, Al managed to scoot away from the figure far enough that he felt comfortable sitting up and settling in again to watch Ed doze, waiting for the moment of genius. The way he'd jerk up, eyes wide and brilliant, full of such knowledge that Al had never been able to fully understand the origin of, before his own terrible knowledge had returned to him.

Except, Ed didn't sit up, looking like he'd solved the greatest question of the universe. Rather, he was approached by a couple of bandits, and when they grabbed for his things, he lashed out.

Al watched on in horror as the bandit Ed hadn't managed to kick in the crotch, held up a knife and ran it across his throat.

Someone, he realised a bit distantly, was screaming.

After one, too-long moment of disbelieving grief, Ed's eyes opened and he grabbed the front of his attacker's shirt. There was something terrible in his eyes, something almost... Al hesitated to think the word, but _demonic_ was all he could come up with. Especially when Ed opened his mouth and his canines had lengthened into deadly points, which broke easily through the skin of his would-be attacker's throat.

Al had to turn away, his stomach – utterly empty, yet not, somehow – rolling and heaving like it was being tossed around in the strongest wind. He choked, gagged, and spat out a mouthful of stomach acid, the burn of his oesophagus a reminder that he hadn't eaten in years, and there was nothing capable of coming out.

When he finally managed to make himself turn back toward the window, he found Ed doing his ungainly stumble-run through the woods, blood all down his front, gleaming on his chin.

He stopped at a stream and spent a long while splashing water on himself, trying to wash away the evidence, and Al didn't know how he felt about that. Should he be angry? Disgusted?

And then Ed pulled off his shirt, left it to wash out the rest of the way, and sat back, touching his throat and looking so completely shocked.

He hadn't known.

"What have you _done_?" someone rasped, and it wasn't until he felt his own mouth shutting, that Al realised _he'd_ been the one to ask.

"He made a deal," the figure said blandly. Uncaring. Like watching Ed kill someone by ripping out their throat, then falling apart on his own, in the woods – laughing to keep from sobbing; Al had seen him do that too many times to count, and his heart was _shattering_ – was _nothing_. "A human is needed for his quest."

"You call that _human_?!" Al shouted, and then flinched as he realised he'd just dehumanised his own _brother_.

The figure, though, just shrugged, getting up and moving toward the other door. "Humans kill each other all the time," it said.

Al squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, pressing his fists against them and hating _everything_. Because maybe _some_ humans killed others all the time, but him and Ed _didn't_. They promised, after what they'd done to Mum, that they wouldn't let any more blood stain their hands. They'd help where they could, pay for their sins by making the lives of others easier, and maybe, somehow, they'd find the way to get their bodies back on the way.

Al choked out a laugh that sounded like a sob, and wondered if any of it had been worth it.

-0-

The second time some bandit on the road killed Ed, Al had to turn away, couldn't watch what he knew would happen; this was one scientific experiment he wanted _no_ part in.

"He traded _me_ , right?" he demanded, trying to distract himself from the horror playing out behind him. "He does whatever you set him, I'm free to go back to our world?"

The figure shrugged. "Yes."

"Well _I'm not playing_ ," Al decided, and turned one of his over-long nails on his own arm, going for the vein he knew was there.

 _Agony_ burnt through the nerves there, and Al flashed a wide, angry grin at the figure. "If I'm not here, you've failed your end of the bargain! You'll have to let my brother _be_! Find someone _else_ for your games!"

The figure shrugged again. "You cannot die," it said. Flat. Bland.

Al turned to look down at his wrist, and found the wound he'd made had already healed back up like it had never been, not even any sign of blood to suggest he'd made an attempt.

"No," Al whispered, slumping.

With no warning, Al found himself flat on his back, a white hand shoving against his chest so hard, he felt like his ribs were snapping under the pressure, and he stared up into the empty face in terror.

"You are an _object_ , Alchemist," it told him, it's voice so utterly _uncaring_ , even though the words should have been a threat. "You are but a tiny part of this, easily disposed of, but there are laws, and you will be returned to your world exactly as you are now. You, of all alchemists, should know the price of attempting to cheat equivalent exchange."

Al's heart choked his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut and held completely still, unable to help but respond like prey attempting to convince a predator that he was _worthless_.

The pressure let up, and when Al finally chanced opening his eyes, the figure had returned to the distant door, leaving Al with just his window into Ed's life. He twisted to look at the window again as he somewhat absently checked his ribs. (Not that he expected to find them changed, not after that line; Ed had traded for Al's body exactly as he currently was, so no change would hold.)

Ed was curled up at the base of a tree, blood staining his hand, which was wrapped tight around his right leg, his face buried in the hollow space his opposing limbs left him. His shoulders were heaving, and it took Al a moment, too distracted by how _tiny_ his brother looked, to realise he was sobbing.

Tears sprung to Al's eyes as he realised he wasn't the only one who was desperately lonely. But, now, he at least could _see_ Ed; his brother had _nothing_. He had to take care of himself alone, walk the world alone, suffer through this hell _alone_.

Al swallowed, forced himself to straighten: He might not be able to free his brother, but he could at least have the strength to watch him, to see even the worst parts. He could help to bear this burden, as he always had, so when they were finally together again, Ed wouldn't need to hide anything, or force himself to explain; there would be no space between them where loneliness could make a home.

-0-

Time was...strange, in that world. Any hopes Al'd had about the window following Ed around helping him to keep track of time, were quickly dashed, because it would often fuzz out, and everything would be shifted when it cleared. So much – or so little – that Al couldn't tell if he'd missed _seconds_ , or _days_.

The only time the image was completely clear, was when Ed was attacked, as though the figure thought watching Al's brother die and come back to life, only to rip out the throat of his attackers and drink their blood, was the best part.

(All _hated_ the figure. He'd look back at it sometimes, glare at it, but it would never react, almost like Al truly was simply an _object_. A toy some visiting child had left laying there, and it was just waiting for them to come back and get it.)

Because of the window, though, Ed's first visit wasn't a surprise, because Al knew his brother's arrays, knew what he was drawing before the image could cut out and the window vanish, because that was a thing that happened.

Jumping on Ed as soon as he'd appeared, despite Al's weak body, was the only possible option. And, judging by how hard Ed held onto him, he'd needed it as much as Al had. The unexpected warmth – Al hadn't even realised he was cold, probably because he'd adapted to the ambient temperature – was an added bonus, and an additional reason to stay pressed tight against Ed's side.

He probably shouldn't have told Ed he could watch him, in retrospect. Al had sort of hoped it would make Ed feel better, knowing he wasn't really alone, but he'd forgotten how much his idiotic big brother felt the need to bear both of their sins on his own, not to mention how much he hated looking weak in front of _anyone_ , let alone Al.

Ed running wasn't really a surprise, but it still stabbed straight through Al's chest, and he'd fallen to the floor where he'd stood, screaming all the profanities their alchemy teacher had spent months 'teaching' them not to use.

When he felt too drained to continue, face wet with tears and snot and him far too tired to actually bother wiping any of it off, Al looked toward the figure with his brother's arm and leg. It was sitting in front of Ed's door, same as always, apparently happy to ignore Al's fit.

Al let his eyes fall closed and relaxed back into the closest thing he had to sleep, too exhausted – emotionally and physically – to consider doing anything else.

-0-

Al spent what felt like _forever_ ignoring the window that had reappeared at some point, almost like he was punishing his brother for being an idiot by ignoring him. He did collect the crutch Ed had left behind, and discovered there was another one he'd never noticed before, probably because it was far closer to Ed's door and the figure.

With two crutches, Al set about trying to train up his muscles a bit, so he could, with any luck, punch Ed in the face when he finally got his head out of his rear end and came back. (Or, better yet, sorted out whatever task he was supposed to be doing, and then brought Al back to their world.)

He couldn't tell if it had something to do with the deal that he be returned to Ed exactly as he'd been then, or because he just wasn't doing enough work to bulk up, but Al didn't notice any change in his strength, so he eventually gave it up, having forgiven Ed enough to start watching him again.

He was just in time to watch Ed meet with the desert people for the first time, his eyes going wide as he took in the sea of golden hair and eyes.

Somehow, it made sense that Dad hadn't been from Amestris, but Al hadn't expected him to have been a desert nomad!

He wished, a bit sadly, that the window had sound, because he would have loved to be able to hear them communicate (if only because he missed the sound of Ed's voice), but no way he'd ever ask the figure for something like that, not without knowing exactly what it would cost them. It looked like they spoke a different language, and he didn't envy his brother having to jump that hurdle. Still, Ed would manage.

Al could totally be angry with him for being an idiot, while also believing nothing would stop him from freeing them both from their prisons.

-0-

Al didn't have to ask for sound, as it turned out, because it started up on its own at some point. Ed had been with the nomads for long enough, by then, that he wasn't using much Amestrisan any more, so Al struggled a bit with keeping up with things – he assumed that was why the figure had turned on the sound – but he still managed to learn enough of the nomad's language, by the time Ed fought the bear, that he was plenty able to keep up with his conversation with the tribe's elders.

That was how Al found out about their dad's history, and it seemed horribly ironic to him that _this_ should be their fate – one trapped in the world where alchemy's equivalency was determined, the other walking the earth and killing to anyone who attacked him. Almost as though, with his death, they'd taken on Dad's sins, as well as their own.

Would they ever manage to repay the blood that stained their very souls?

If nothing else, at least the conversation finally brought Ed back to Al. And with _food_!

Ed was stolen back away far too soon, and Al glared at the figure as soon as the stone door had slammed behind his brother, only to find it apparently _staring at him_.

All of the hair on his body stood up on end, again, and Al quickly retreated to his window of Ed, creeped out, and hoping watching his brother would distract him.

-0-

The figure didn't stop watching him. It also stopped sitting on its side, staring off into nowhere, and started walking around a bit, often ending up on Al's side. All too often, it would stop behind him, and he had no idea if it was staring at him, or watching his window of Ed.

It was starting to make him jumpy. And, given the only physical contact between them so far had been violent, it really wasn't that surprising for him to catch him flinching away from even the briefest brushes of contact. Which didn't mean he didn't _hate_ how weak that made him feel, but there wasn't really any way he knew of to combat it.

As long as he didn't start flinching from Ed, he determined he'd be okay. And Ed bringing him clothing, the next time he came, helped a lot; there was nothing like no longer being stark naked to make one feel a little more in control of their circumstances.

Even better, he'd watched his brother getting the supplies he'd brought, some of them. He knew exactly how much extra work he'd had to do, and that these were meant _for Al_. They weren't just convenient, and that made them all the more precious.

For the first time, Al got to feel warm without Ed there.

-0-

Al hadn't realised Ed was leaving the tribe, until the window's fuzz had cleared and he found his brother staring at the burnt remains of their childhood home. He made a note to ask what had happened – Ed didn't look particularly devastated, and the tribe had so clearly loved him far too much, so Al was nearly certain he hadn't been kicked out – then settled back to watch.

.


End file.
